


There's Really Just One Thing That We Have In Common | Neither of Us Will Be Missed

by Jaakkola



Series: Two Men In a Life or Death Situation In a Cabin In Drustvar [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Possible Character Death, There's Plot In Theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23841127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaakkola/pseuds/Jaakkola
Summary: SI:7 operatives have been going missing in Drustvar. The reason is probably not that surprising.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Series: Two Men In a Life or Death Situation In a Cabin In Drustvar [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1957867
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	There's Really Just One Thing That We Have In Common | Neither of Us Will Be Missed

**Author's Note:**

> the months leading up to may are always rough on me, so you'll have to pardon me on the fact that i've taken this long to post something. i also took up the graveyard shift, so that's been eating into my writing houts
> 
> its noon and im tired.

Flynn slammed the door to the cabin behind him, braced himself against it, and waited. Through his panting, he could hear it moving around outside. "Can I say I told you so yet?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.

Shaw did something that Flynn could only describe as nearly collapse; it wasn't a collapse, no, but it sure blurred the lines as to how you defined a collapse. With one shoulder pressing against the wall, the spymaster slid down to the floor with all the grace and elegance of a ruffian that was three sheets to the wind. "Go ahead," he said in a hoarse voice as he reached a hand to his remaining pauldron; the other was lost, pulled off in the fight.

It was a simple concession, one that was made by a man far too experienced in adversity to let his pride get in the way of the truth. Any frustrations Flynn had towards the current situation were defused with Shaw's quiet words, and with the fact that he left a bloody trail down the wall when he definitely-not-collapsed. They've really done themselves in this time. Flynn pushed the stray hairs from his face with a heavy sigh, before taking a seat on the ground beside Shaw. "Think I'll leave being right to you," he said in a quiet murmur to the rogue. "Don't like it; don't know how you handle it all the time."

If that was humorous to Shaw, Flynn would never know. He assumed the comment would have Shaw give the barest hint of a smile, just a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth, but perhaps that would only be the case in the most favorable of occasions. While Shaw was forcing his expression into something neutral, failing to completely conceal his pain, as he was bleeding profusely from several wounds, was perhaps not one of those occasions.

Shaw pulled his remaining pauldron off and tilted his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He looked utterly exhausted, his skin an unusual pale. The new wounds were grievous, the worst of them being a swipe right through his abdomen, one that tore through the leather armor that was made to protect him. It left him bleeding enough to fill a riverbed, and it needed immediate medical attention, but getting that out in Drustvar would be nigh impossible, especially when they were in no condition to travel through the mountains to Arom's Stand, and that damned thing was still outside.

Flynn let out a long sigh. "I don't think we're making it back to Boralus."

Shaw was pressing a hand to his stomach now, eyes still closed. "How's your arm?"

Bad was the simplest answer. Its claws tore through Flynn's right coat sleeve and his arm. The only positive about it was the fact he still had his arm at all; his coat wasn't as lucky. "Gonna be honest here, I don't think my coat will ever recover."

That also failed to illicit a reaction from Shaw, either positive or negative, and not even a comment on Flynn's flippancy. The straits have never been more dire, for as long as Flynn had a smart comment to make, Shaw had a disapproving one to accompany it with, no matter the situation. With this, there was only silence, a silence that was too still, too loud, too uncomfortable. "At least it wasn't the Horde killing your agents," he said, for the sake of saying something.

Shaw, who had been equally still as the silence, finally began to move. "That would have been preferable," he rasped as he opened his eyes and sat up straighter. He removed his hand from his stomach, revealing the ghastly wound and a gloved hand sopping with blood.

"Really?" Flynn asked as Shaw opened the pauldron pouch with largely uncooperative fingers.

"Better to die in the line of duty," Shaw said, "than to be mauled by a Light damned bear."

"A _possessed_ Light damned bear," Flynn corrected.

Shaw gave a noncommittal hum as he pulled out a small vial filled with a crimson liquid. Flynn watched him pull the cork of the vial out with his teeth, spit it out on the other side of him, and drink half of the vial's contents before handing it towards Flynn.

"What is that?" Flynn asked.

Shaw finally took an expression that wasn't just a subdued pained one as his eyebrows narrowed quizzically. "Since when have you questioned drinks being handed to you?"

"Considering we're bleeding out on the mountainside and I've seen how many poisons you have on your body at any time, I don't know if that's supposed to be an easy death or something."

"It's a healing potion, to take the edge off the wounds." Shaw looked mildly offended, or perhaps just pained and confused. The subtle nuances of Shaw's expressions were always lost on Flynn. "Did you want a—"

"No, I'll take my chances with the bear." Flynn shook his head.

Shaw made a subtle motion, twirling his wrist enough to bring the attention back to the question at hand.

"I think you need it more than I do," Flynn said. Shaw, in all his generosity, held it out to Flynn for another moment, giving him a chance to second guess and change his mind. When the moment was up, Shaw drank down the rest, and returned to resting against the wall, eyes closing as he put pressure on his wound. "Don't you have bandages or something?"

"In my other pauldron pouch," Shaw replied. "If you want to get it, be my guest."

Flynn rose to his feet, crossing over to the boarded up window beside the door. Through the gap between two nailed on slats, he could see the behemoth of a bear outside, pacing just beyond the threshold of the house. Dark tendrils of unholy magic rose from it like smoke from a fire. Flynn had shot the bear while the two ran for safety, and other than the slightest limp it moved with and the light trail of blood that followed it, it seemed rather unbothered from Flynn's efforts.

The bear's eyes found Flynn's amidst its pacing, stopping to maintain a menacing gaze. If it wasn't for the superstitious traditions of Drustvar folk in making their homes utterly unapproachable to evil spirits, Flynn would have no doubt that he and Shaw would be nothing but gore splatters in the snow and mud by now. He moved away from the window, trying to shake the feeling of the enthralled bear's eyes on him. "I don't think we'll be leaving this place for a while."

Shaw didn't respond. Now that the shock was wearing off, Flynn's arm was really starting to hurt, singing with the pain that was reminiscent of a wound he'd receive from the slash of a sword, but with another feeling burning with it. He stole a glance at his arm, wincing when he saw the long claw marks that trailed from his shoulder to his elbow. They'd make nasty scars if they managed to get out of this somehow, and if they didn't, which was seeming to be the overwhelmingly likely option, then he wouldn't be alive to worry about it.

The silence was becoming unbearable again, with the stench of death growing heavy in the air. Flynn said the first thing to come to his mind in order to break it. "There were a lot of places I expected to die in. Drustvar wasn't one of them."

Shaw didn't respond.

"I mean, when I was a kid, I did, but that's just how kids are, I think." The bear continued to pace outside, watching the cabin, waiting. "Lots of creepy stories about Drustvar. Songs too. All the trees looking like that."

"Captain," Shaw said, almost pleading. Flynn looked over, seeing the exhausted looking spymaster watching him for where he sat, hand pressed against his injury.

Flynn rubbed his face, feeling the blood run down his arm. "What a sorry lot we seem to be, huh?" He left the window, returning to sit at Shaw's side. With that, it became quiet in the little cabin again. He could hear Shaw's breathing, a rasp in his throat. The eventuality of the situation was crashing down on him. "What's the chances we make it out of this somehow?"

"Wyrmbane would send someone for us if we weren't back by dusk."

That was hours away. Flynn had to ask, "think we'll bleed out before that?" Shaw stayed silent. He didn't want to give false hope on something he wasn't sure about, Flynn assumed, which meant that it was not a favorable chance in his eyes. Shaw's free hand found Flynn's, giving it a light squeeze before entwining his fingers with Flynn's. Flynn let out a heavy sigh and rested his head against Shaw's shoulder. "Sorry lot indeed," he mumbled.

**Author's Note:**

> hard cut to the adventurer grumbling about having to save these two again.


End file.
